


Imagine We're Glorious

by gigantic



Category: Bandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Crossdressing, F/M, Genderbending, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-29
Updated: 2008-05-29
Packaged: 2018-03-24 17:21:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3776992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gigantic/pseuds/gigantic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Have you ever noticed that Frank's kind of...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Imagine We're Glorious

**Author's Note:**

> This incarnation of this threesome is a pale, underdeveloped version of something sinsense and overloved first came up with a few months back. I was in the store with pre_emptive the other day, saw a cute headband and bracelet, and somehow that turned into me spamming Biz with a lot of AU ramblings about her comment exchanges. I don't even know, y'all. Also, this doesn't have a soundtrack, but if it did, it would totally include Peggy Lee singing "I Enjoy Being a Girl" and Jill Sobule's "Supermodel." Because, well. Duh.

Bob doesn't _want_ to move to New Jersey. That's just what happens. 

His mom gets a job offer, his father's ready for a change, and Bob doesn't particularly get along well in his school anyway. Well, a fight once every other week might seem more serious than "not getting along particularly well" to some people, but the point is they leave Chicago on the evening of the thirtieth and land on the first with the time difference and the flight length. They get into Jersey before the sun and stay in a hotel room their first day in what's supposed to be Bob's brand new hometown. Bob sleeps on a queen-sized bed a few feet from his parents, wondering why they couldn't have just let him transfer schools in the area if they wanted to change his environment, because, if anything, Jersey stinks.

In the morning Bob says as much to his father when they turn onto the street where the new place is located. Bob sits in the backseat, tapping his fingers on the seatbelt across his chest and asks why Jersey smelled like a dump on the way in from the airport. He says, "I was just wondering what about that made you decide this place was a winner?"

"Don't be a smartass," his mother says.

"It's the industry, Bob," his dad says. "It only smells in parts."

They pull up in front of the house, and Bob looks it over through his window. If he met a person who only smelled in parts, he wouldn't take them time to figure out which and just avoid them for smelling all over. Or something. It's a workable analogy. Basically, he thinks there are probably better options than New Jersey.

"Here we are," says his dad. "It'll feel like home. You just have to get used to it."

"Yeah, sure," Bob says, and he unbuckles himself and gets out of the car.

Okay, maybe he's more bitter about leaving Chicago than he first thought.

;;

To top off the suck, Bob's family moves into town over Christmas break. He isn't eager to go to school every day, but without it, Bob spends a lot more time at home than he would prefer. He knows neither the neighborhood nor any of the people who live in it, so he's stuck in New Jersey with no way to entertain himself.

He spends the first few days sitting outside, checking out his neighbors to get used to some of the faces. The only people on his block that seem like they're around Bob's age are a short, dark-haired kid who lives near the corner and a girl who, as far as Bob can tell, comes over every single day. He looks like any short, vaguely punk kid Bob knew back in Chicago. 

The guy catches Bob looking at him one afternoon and waves, a noncommittal flip of his hand with the sun in his eyes, and Bob raises his own hand to be polite. He doesn't really think too much about trying to introduce himself to the guy. He only sees him from afar: a couple piercings, small silver earrings, and Bob wouldn't be surprised if he had black-painted nails, but he can't make out that kind of detail from the distance. 

;;

When school starts again for the spring, Bob finally meets the kid from down the street. 

His name is Frank. 

They run into one another in the hallways, and Frank introduces himself earnestly. He holds out a hand, and he's not wearing the studs Bob thought he saw before, but Bob looks down at his hand and notices that his nails are painted black and red. Pretty typical.

"I'm Bob," Bob says, shaking Frank's hand. Frank smiles.

"Nice to meet you, man," he says, dropping Bob's hand. "So you're new, huh? I saw your folks moving everything a couple weeks ago."

"Guilty," Bob says.

"Where are you from?"

Bob says, "Oh, uh, we just got here from Chicago. Or, right outside of it, really."

"Wow, so you're completely new," Frank says. He rocks up on his toes and back down again, holding one arm to the side in an expansive gesture as he says, "Well, hey, let me be the first to welcome you to paradise, Bob."

Bob scoffs as he looks around the hallway. He doubts that there's any way that this state could qualify as any sort of paradise, but Bob keeps his comments to himself. Frank's still showing all of his teeth, expression pleasant like he's offering no amount of sarcasm. At least somebody loves Jersey.

Bob says, "Thanks."

"Yeah, of course," Frank says. "Alright, hey, I have to get to class, but I'll see you around, okay? We should hang out later!"

Frank calls the tail of his sentence over his shoulder, waving goodbye. Bob copies the gesture. It isn't anything that makes Bob hesitate then, but it is something he thinks about later, idly considering Frank's sincerity and the fact that Frank hadn't just alternated Sharpie and White Out on his fingers, but that they were really polished.

;;

It turns out that Frank's an okay guy. He's energetic and has this high, disarming giggle that Bobs grows accustomed to hearing. The girl that Bob sees him with all the time is named Jamia, who Frank introduces as his girlfriend and says that one day they're going to get married. It isn't even a question for him, even though they're like fifteen. Bob chuckles about it when Frank first tells him about their vague future plans, but the more he spends time around them, the more he realizes they aren't kidding.

Bob actually really digs that confidence about them. They laugh openly, handle each other easily, and are so comfortable that it only startles Bob for a second when he comes over to Frank's, walks around to the backyard as usual, and finds Jamia finishing up some eyeshadow on him. Frank holds still, talking to her quietly, and when Bob speaks up to say hello, Jamia sits back and Frank's eyes flutter open.

He smiles, saying, "Hey," and then laughs a little when Jamia hands over a mirror to let Frank see his eyes. They're brushed over in shades of purple, and Frank says, "This at least doesn't look as weird as the red."

"You're, uh, doing his makeup?" Bob asks.

Frank says, "She practices on me," to which Jamia nods. "What do you think?"

"Um," Bob says, because well. This is kind of weird. He fidgets, lost, and then Frank laughs harder this time, saying, "It's not rocket science, dude. Is it messy?"

"You can be honest," Jamia says. She sets down her brushes and eyeshadow, and Bob feels awkward under their stares.

He says, "No, uh. No, it's -- okay."

Frank clasps his fingers under his chin, fluttering his lashes at Bob dramatically. Jamia laughs, and Bob smirks, too, feeling strangely relieved. He can't put his finger on why though, and Frank eventually washes off the eyeshadow, so Bob kind of forgets about it as they watch television in Frank's basement that night. The only things left are smudges of black eyeliner that hadn't come away entirely with one face-washing, and every time Frank looks at him, Bob gets momentarily distracted by the darkness of his eyes, imagining them with shimmery color on the lids.

;;

Because it would be one thing if Frank just sometimes let Jamia play with his face, or if Frank was just kind of a neat-freak, or if Frank did just paint his nails with actual polish instead of liquid White-Out because he was a ridiculous perfectionist, but... Bob isn't entirely convinced that that's the case. Frank comes to Bob's house for dinner a couple weeks later, mouth sort of shiny, with heart-shaped studs in his ears. Afterward his parents ask Bob what's up with him, and Bob says that, no, he and his girlfriend play around, and Frank just doesn't mind it. Except the more that Bob's around Frank, the less he thinks it's all Jamia's influence.

Jamia is a really cool girl, and she does like to look pretty. She does wear make-up and a dress or skirt when she pleases, but she isn't overtly girly in a way that means she also pushes her preferences off onto the people around her, and yet Frank is -- Frank's kind of dainty. He likes picking out accessories for Jamia at stores, paints his nails all different colors beyond just black. He seems to really dig bright things, the more Bob gets to know him, draping soft scarves around himself and even trying on the stuff Jamia tries on in sizes that will fit him. For a while Bob thinks Frank's just funny and playful, but he starts to realize how naive he's being and finally asks Jamia at lunch one day.

Bob clears his throat and tries, "Have you ever noticed that Frank's kind of... " And Jamia watches him, not giving Bob any help as he tries to talk around what he means -- what he doesn't have words to explain. He says, "Frank's, um. The makeup and skirts in stores and, I don't know. It's sort of..."

He shrugs.

Jamia looks up, like maybe she's searching the crowd for Frank to come back from the lunch line. She taps her juice and says, "He says it's for fun."

"Right, but," Bob says, and he doesn't really know what the but is, so he shakes it off. "I don't know."

"Does it bother you?"

Bob squints up at the crowd now. He's not really sure. It's mostly confusing, he thinks, because he thought he'd met a variety of people back in his school in Chicago, but he's never really known someone like Frank. He's one of the coolest guys that Bob's known, and yet he's so different from, like, every other person Bob's met, either in Chicago or here in Jersey. 

At school, Frank is always completely toned down. He's still a bouncy kid, but he's less, well, girly. Things change when it's just the three of them, sharing space and jokes. Bob tries not to overanalyze it too much when Frank does something like put braids into Jamia's hair while they watch TV, and then turn around and let her brush his into really short pigtails for a few hours, but it's not the easiest task he's ever managed. He just wonders about Frank. Occasionally. That's all.

"I wonder if it bothers me sometimes," Jamia says, which Bob appreciates. "I mean, school is different and stuff. I'm not embarrassed or anything, but I just think about it. It is pretty different. I care about him though."

That's the other thing that keeps Bob confused. Frank and Jamia are dating. Bob has seen them make out enough times to know that Frank is genuinely attracted to her, and they're crazy about each other, and Bob is just -- Frank messes with his head. He's this dude who's kind of girly, has an awesome girlfriend, and yet that doesn't mean that he isn't flirtatious still, because Bob isn't the most immediately physical person, but he and Frank have no real personal space. Frank just ignores shit like that, and Bob likes touching Frank and being around him and Jamia, which is bound to be problematic.

He doesn't want to talk to Jamia about that part. He shifts on his seat, picks at the orange on his tray, and says, "Right, yeah. I was asking. Anyway, you guys are still coming over today, right?"

;;

Bob's parents go into New York for the weekend. They leave Thursday afternoon while he's still in school and give Bob the option of meeting them Friday evening after he's finished for the week, but he thinks about having the opportunity to hang out later than usual and declines. He's still relatively new in town. He could have a party or something, even just invite a few people over, if he wanted to do so.

It turns out, though, that a few people just ends up being Frank. There's the hardcore show that Friday night, and Bob really wants to go to that with Frank and Jamia, so he opts to stay in Jersey for that reason.

Frank goes "butch" when they go to hardcore shows, or so he calls it. It's still like dressing up for him, in a way. A person has to dress appropriately for various events, and Frank likes to do his best to look the part. The fact that he talks about it like he's making an effort to look like everybody else doesn't escape Bob.

Whatever. He throws on a cleaner shirt, and he tells them that they can sleep over or something, since he has the house to himself, but Jamia's parents are only so free about letting her stay out. Overnights with the boyfriend is beginning to push it, they say, so Bob drives by her house first after the show ends. The car idles in, parked at the curb while she gets a bandage off Bob's glove compartment and takes care of the nasty cut she got in the mosh pit that. Frank's sitting in the back seat, and he takes time to kiss her when she steps out of the car, moving to the front seat.

"Just me and you tonight, then, huh?" he says, closing the passenger door. 

It's been a while since they've gone to a show. Bob's kind of reeling because it keeps hitting him that he hasn't seen Frank without any sort of accessories or anything. It almost strikes him as strange, which is sort of funny now. He's gotten so used to Frank's behavior and preferences compared to other people.

"I guess so," Bob says, throwing the car into gear and pulling away from Jamia's. Just them.

Frank made sure to toss an overnight bag into Bob's car before they left, so he doesn't have to go down the street to his house for anything. Inside, he and Bob change into pajamas even though they're not going to bed right away. Bob brushes his teeth, and Frank washes his face. He sits on the bathroom counter while Bob then cleans his own face, using Bob's mom's manicure tools to scrape off the White-Out on his fingers, and, offhandedly, Bob tells him he can poke around for her polishes if he wants to redo his hands now.

"Yeah, I mean," Frank says, "Sharpie's only good for a couple hours. It comes off fast."

"Yeah," Bob says. He turns off the sink and watches Frank in silence when he starts to redo his fingers. The bathroom smells of chemicals now, and Bob looks on as Frank does everything neatly. His face is tilted down, focusing on his hands, and he's got a pastel blue stretchy headband holding his hair out of his face, because he hasn't gotten his hair cut in a while.

At some point Frank took time to put his studs back in his ears, along with his nose stud, and he's also slipped the matching bands for each of his ring fingers on again. He always takes everything out just in case someone in the mosh pits thinks it's a good idea to rip them out. It's kind of funny since Frank never thinks to take out his lip piercing, which would probably just as painful as anything if someone grabbed at it. 

Bob opens his mouth to say that to Frank, reaching to push his knuckles into Frank's thigh to get his attention, but what comes out is, "How long have you liked all this stuff?"

He's never just asked Frank. Bob's method for handling most people is to observe them and then figure out how he's supposed to react to them based on that. He rarely thinks to simply ask someone what their angle is or to jump into a situation blind. Frank looks up from his task and asks, "This stuff?"

"You're going through my mom's nail stuff," Bob says, sort of matter-of-fact. Frank shakes his hand out and shrugs.

"My mom has pictures of me and my older cousin standing in front of her house with her Halloween costumes on," he says. "She was Jasmine. I was Belle, you know? Before-Belle, though, with the apron and the basket -- no, I'm lying." Frank laughs, and then twists up his mouth and hums to himself a little, in thought. "I don't know, dude, it's polish. I don't really know how to answer that question."

Bob says, "I just meant -- sorry. You're just, I don't know. I was wondering."

Frank chuckles, shaking his head. "Uh. That's okay?"

"Because before -- at first you said that it was Jamia, with, uh. The eye makeup, and so I thought she was just making you for a while," Bob says, walking his fingers back and forth on the hard surface next to Frank's thigh. It's a nervous fidgeting, he knows. "Like some girl thing, because I had a girlfriend in grammar school for like a week, who, um -- some girls just get their boyfriends to do random things for them, and I thought -- but Jamia's not actually like -- you're kind of just girly on your own, not in a -- it isn't _bad_ , but I was just wondering."

"Girly," Frank says, thoughtfully. He holds out his hand, considering it, and then he nods. He says, "Yeah, maybe."

"It's not bad," Bob repeats. He's serious. After this long, it doesn't even feel all that weird to him anymore.

Frank says, "I don't know how long I've liked 'all this stuff." He flaps his hands around dramatically, mocking Bob's gestures. "I just like it. Do you think it's freaky? It's okay; sometimes people do."

"No. No, you're... pretty," Bob says. That's the word he's looking for there. Frank is cute -- pretty. Pretty like Jamia, except not at all, because looking at Frank still isn't quite like looking at Jamia when she's all dressed up. It's confusing, Bob thinks. "It's kind of confusing, or it was. You're just a different kind of kid."

"But a pretty one," Frank says, beaming suddenly, like Bob has chosen the right word. Frank's pleased. 

He twists around to look at his face in the mirror. The skin is clean, washed for the night, save for the bit of gloss Frank's put on his lips again, and yet he still looks completely opposite from the way he looked at the hardcore show earlier that night. Frank was playing then, dressed for the event, and now he's stripped down and simple again, glowing and... pretty, yeah.

"Yeah. Definitely, yeah," Bob says.

Frank giggles. He tucks his tongue between his teeth, turns his face back to Bob and says, "It's harder at school, because the band shirts don't always go with very much. A lot of my favorite ones are black and have big writing, too, so -- "

And Bob leans in to kiss Frank. His lips are sticky with the gloss, but he gasps and opens his mouth. Bob's pulse races. He's kissing Frank and quietly losing his mind at the same time, wondering what the hell he's doing and what this means. Frank makes everything harder for Bob, because he gets Frank better than he's gotten a lot of people, and yet the dude still makes so little sense to Bob in ways. He's beautiful, but he's a boy, but he's also delicate and likes to do himself up like a pretty girl, and Bob has no _clue_ what he's doing, and then it only gets more confusing when Frank pushes him back.

"Shit, sorry -- "

"Oh," Frank says, voice small. "Oh, no, Bob, I'm not -- "

"Oh, god," Bob says. Now he's mortified. "Fuck."

"I have a girlfriend," Frank says, like Bob isn't already extremely familiar with said girlfriend. God, Jamia's going to kill him.

"Sorry," Bob says again. "That was really stupid."

"It's fine," Frank says, stretching his arm out to stop Bob from pacing back and forth in the small space. "Bob, no, it's cool. I just, I didn't mean to give you the wrong idea, or -- "

"It's my fault. I don't even know what," Bob says, shrugging. "Because I'm not, either, or anything."

"Right, right, okay." Frank drops his hands and rubs them over his thighs. He says, "Then we're okay? We're okay."

Okay or not, the moment is more than sufficiently awkward. They make it out of the bathroom though, Frank closing up the polish and putting everything away. Technically, Bob could let out the couch for Frank and sleep in his room, but there's really no need. Bob's bed is big enough for two, and what just happened shouldn't change things. He's unsure about how to proceed for a second anyway, until Frank takes initiative by ignoring the situation as usual. He jumps onto the mattress and burrows into the covers before Bob can say anything else.

It's up to Bob to slide in then, turning off the lamp by the door. Getting to sleep is simple enough, and in the middle of the night, Bob wakes up to Frank curled into his immediate space, breathing softly, with his headband pushed farther back on his head from tossing in his sleep and his painted nails pressing into Bob's stomach. He's a contradiction to Bob, girly and yet, apparently, uninterested in kissing boys unless it's on the cheek for show in front of the fitting room mirror at Forever 21.

But Bob isn't gay. At least, he didn't think he was before Jersey, but he's attracted to Frank. He can admit that to himself, although the details of it confuse him, because he's also still attracted to girls. He's attracted to Jamia especially, for instance, who continues to prove herself the best kind of surprise to Bob. Between her and Frank -- together, the two of them throw Bob for a loop. They're his best friends now, and they love each other a lot, and he cares about them, and feels so fucked that he can't even fathom a time when he didn't feel so disoriented.

;;

Frank goes home the next day. Bob doesn't see either of them again until school on Monday. He's nervous about talking to Jamia about kissing Frank, but he doesn't want to back out of it either. He's not a coward, and he thinks she should know. They have math together, and he sits at the desk next to her in the middle of the classroom and tells about Friday night in his bathroom.

"You can be mad," he says, and she snorts.

"Of course I can be," she says, giving him a look that's hardly friendly, but then she seems to take a breath and calm herself.

Bob says, "It's not gonna happen again," for good measure, and she shakes her head.

"I was a little upset," she says. "Frank already told me on Saturday. I don't hate you."

"I didn't mean to." Bob taps his pencil on the desk and makes himself keep looking at her to show that he doesn't feel ashamed. It was just a mistake. She doesn't have to worry about anything.

"I know," she says, and then pauses. "Bob, do you like him?"

"It's really not going to happen again," Bob promises, because it won't. If they don't want it to happen again, then it won't. Bob can figure out his awkward feelings on his own, and then find a girl or a boy of his own, and he, Frank, and Jamia can all be friends without any issues.

"Alright," she says, and opens her math book.

Bob isn't disappointed. Really.

;;

They get past it. In a way, it's a good thing, too, because thanks to their conversation, Frank seems to feel even more comfortable with being himself around Bob. Jamia tells him that she thinks Bob has been really good for them, because they support each other, but it was different for Frank, she knows, to have had Bob call him pretty instead of it always being her. 

She tells Bob about birthdays spent at each other's houses, Frank bedecked and happy. He loves it even more than he's let on already, and she's glad that now Bob encourages him too. It's amazing, really, when Bob sees it all in Frank as well, his fondness for nice gloves and rings and hair clips. Bob goes to buy some new dress shoes for his mom's work thing after school one day, and Frank talks about how nice a pair of Mary Janes on the opposite wall are the whole time. They're the only pair in his size, too, and Bob offers to buy them for Frank, who insists that that isn't necessary but continues to look longingly at the shoes.

"They're on sale, Frank," Bob says. "Are you sure?"

"No, don't," Frank says. "For real, Bob, they're just shoes."

He swears he doesn't need them, and so they eventually leave without them, but Bob keeps them in mind. 

Things are really good. The three of them hang out, like always, and nothing else awkward happens between them, until the high school holds the junior prom late in the school year and Frank gets sick a week before. Bob had been intending to ask a girl from his history class, but Frank's down for the count for days, and so Bob asks Jamia instead.

"Bob, come on, you don't have to take me dancing," she says. "I'm not a pity case, stop it."

"No, I want to," Bob says. He'd much rather take Jamia than someone else, now that the opportunity has presented itself. 

It sucks that Frank's sick. He's started to recover by the time the dance comes around, but his parents recommend that he stay in bed a few more days, so Bob goes to buy a nice suit, nothing too expensive.

While he's out, he remembers the shoes Frank had been looking at before and gets an idea. Maybe he and Jamia should take the dance to Frank. Before the school dance had even been announced, Frank had been excited about how nice Jamia always looks, telling Bob that he likes to see what she wants to wear so that he can make sure his own outfit coordinates. He's told Bob about how can't wait until senior year when they can really go all out from their prom instead of just going to the junior prom where all the underclassmen can show up in whatever they want. With that kind of enthusiasm, it would be a shame for Frank to miss out completely.

So Bob calls Jamia and asks about sizes for Frank while he's at the mall. On the phone, Jamia wants to know what Bob's up to there. Bob laughs. He says, "I just want to surprise him."

"Bryar, what are you buying?" Jamia asks, voice suspicious, but he says he doesn't want to give too much away. 

He gets the shoes first, snapping up a pair an associate finds tucked away in the stock room. It's a lucky purchase, because Bob would've assumed that those shoes had been bought by someone else days ago. He uses the colors on them as a guide for what else to buy, and when he gets to Jamia's house later, he brings her out to the car and shows her the bags. She's shocked, and much to Bob's surprise, she elbows him in the arm when she sees the dress, shoes, and accessories.

"How much did you spend on this?" she asks, and Bob shrugs. Not too much. He thinks it was worth it, anyway.

"Will he like it?" Bob asks, avoiding the question. He's still sort of afraid he might be way off here, good intentions aside.

Jamia sighs, muttering, "I can't believe you bought all of this today."

"Will he _like_ it though?" Bob repeats. 

Jamia finally comes back to him, really looks at the clothes, and she says that they're nice. They've never really -- Frank's tried a lot of stuff on in department stores, but he's never gone as far as owning anything like an entire outfit, so she knows what he likes, but she's not sure. 

"There's really only one way to find out," she says, but to Bob she sounds more excited than uncertain.

Bob and Jamia get ready for the dance at her house, and then drive back around to Bob's neighorhood to stop at Frank's. Bob calls ahead to say that Jamia wants to let Frank see her, so that they can at least take pictures of her with her favorite sickly little guy before they go, and Frank sounds bummed that he can't go, but the idea of being able to see them before they leave pleases him.

When they get inside, Bob stays in the living room with Frank's parents and sends Jamia to Frank's room with the bags. They ask him about school, real polite and pleasant, and Bob tries to pretend he isn't straining to try to hear any sort of conversation or reaction coming from elsewhere in the house.

Several minutes later, Bob hears a door open, and then Jamia comes back into the living room and asks if she can steal Bob for a minute. She's smiling. Bob has never been more overwhelmingly nervous in his entire life.

He breathes in deep as they head to Frank's room. Jamia leads Bob in by the hand, and when Bob sees him, Frank's standing in front of the full-length mirror hanging on the inside of his closet door. He grins at Bob's reflection, and then spins around to show off his look from the front, clad in the red babydoll dress that Bob picked out.

Junior prom is less formal that what the seniors get, so the dress has pockets. Frank's Mary Janes are red and white, and he's got a ribbon tied around his hair, and the assorted bracelets that Bob picked out and mixed with things Jamia had adorn his wrists. They're mostly plastic, cheaper trinkets, but they all look good on Frank, who blinks carefully, eyes done up by Jamia again, and when they stand next to one another, Bob's blown away by amazing they both look.

"So?" Frank prompts. "Feedback, please?"

"Wow," Bob says. "Both of you guys, wow."

"You're not so bad yourself," Jamia says, and Frank laughs, the smile on his face practically going from ear to ear.

They take a lot of pictures in Frank's bedroom, and then turn on his computer to use it to play music. He and Jamia dance around the bed, time passing and passing, and Bob's not even worried about making it to the school. Frank still has a cough, but for the most part he's as full of life as usual, spinning Jamia, and then letting her spin him around as well. Bob thinks they're gorgeous.

After a couple songs, Frank hands Jamia off to him, and they make the most of the cramped space in Frank's bedroom. They dance and laugh until they're all a little stupid with it, wired but not yet willing to part ways. Frank flops back on his bed, and Jamia falls back over his middle, pulling Bob down too. He chuckles, watching their limbs collide, and then Jamia leans forward and kisses Bob sweetly, making him gasp and lose his ability to think clearly for a moment.

Bob's eyes cut to Frank, but Frank just smiles. When he notices Bob's shock, he says, "What?" like he didn't even see what just happened, and Bob eventually shakes his head. He lets it go. It was just a nice kiss, that's all. No big deal.

Frank holds out his hand, asking, "Robert, will you dance with me?"

Bob doesn't hesitate long, just enough to regain his balance and push himself upright. Frank wiggles from under Jamia, and then he takes Bob's hand and stands in front of him. Bob doesn't have to wonder about where to put his hands, Frank draping his arms on Bob's shoulders, around his neck. Bob touches Frank's waist, and the song playing drones on slow, airy, and Jamia watches them sway to the music as Frank presses close. Frank yawns, and Bob figures that Frank should probably be able to get some more sleep. Despite his protests, he is still sort of ill.

As the song fades, Bob whispers, "Frankie. Frank."

"Hm?"

Bob steps back, getting Frank to stand on his own. "I think we should get out of here. You can rest."

"No, stay," Frank says, but he yawns again, and then says, "Or, okay, yeah, I'm probably just going to drool on you."

"Yeah, babe, sleep," Jamia says. "So you can come to school on Monday."

"Alright, alright." Frank falls into bed, kicking his shoes off, and he kisses Jamia then stretches on his back and yawns again. "Can I keep the dress?"

Bob laughs. "Yeah, it's yours. We got it for you."

Frank smiles sleepily. "I like it. Did I say that earlier? It's beautiful. Thank you."

"You're welcome," Bob says. Frank rocks sideways to kiss Jamia goodbye again, and then he demands Bob come down for a hug. Frank smacks a kiss to Bob's cheek, and Bob kisses his forehead, the two of them lingering. When Bob feels Jamia's hand on his back, he finds himself tempted to ask if they can all sleep here after all. Instead, he says, "'Night, Frankie."

He drives Jamia home. They sit in a comfortable silence, a late night lull. Outside of her house, Jamia turns to Bob, and she thanks him for a good night, even if they never actually made it to the dance.

"And Frank loves that stuff, Bob. You should have seen his face," she says, joy pushing through the fatigue. Bob was too nervous to be there while Frank opened the bags, afraid he'd made the wrong choice in getting the clothes in the first place, but seeing him dressed up in them was so worth all of the pre-game nausea.

Bob says, "You guys both were really pretty. You looked nice."

"You're a really good guy," Jamia says, almost like an offhand observation. Jamia kisses his face, and then catches his mouth quickly when he raises his chin, and Bob chases her lips, so completely doomed for both of them that it's almost comical. Pulling back, Jamia smiles softly again, and then says, "Thank you," another time before heading inside.

Bob goes home and passes out in his shirtsleeves, simultaneously pleased and conflicted.

;;

For junior prom the school apparently doesn't believe in doing students any favors, because the dance is held Thursday night. Class starts as early as ever on Friday, and Bob's tired in first period, trying his best not to doze off on his teacher's economics lesson. He's about sixty percent successful, eyes drooping only a couple times, giving Bob half-formed dreams about the night before. He could've kissed Jamia for real in front of Frank instead of freezing up, and then he could've taken that bravery on over to Frank, too, and it would have been nice -- Bob and the two best girls in the entire state of New Jersey --

And then someone pushes his arm when the bell rings, jerking Bob awake. The hazy visions of last night's redo disappear, and Bob just feels tired and little unfulfilled then, wondering why he has to be the guy with the crush on a couple and not on the hot girl in his history class after all, like every other, regular high school dude.

That's how Bob's mind works when it comes to them, buoying back and forth between elation and frustration. They let him in and treat him like he belongs there, flirting and keeping Bob close, but then Bob has to remind himself that he shouldn't get too comfortable. They're his friends, but they aren't _his_ , and that's probably the most difficult part about coming to terms with being the kind of person who crushes on another guy's girlfriend or finding himself attracted to other boys: being into people who are already in love with each other.

As good a time as Bob had in Frank's bedroom, he figures he should probably look into separating himself from Frank and Jamia. Not entirely, but in the way that counts. He entertains the thought of maybe asking out the girl in his history class, Victoria, when he and Jamia take Frank's homework to his house that afternoon. Bob ends up hanging around with them for a few hours, Frank lying his head on Bob's lap while they chill and listen to music, and Jamia holds his hand, stroking her thumb back and forth over Bob's knuckles in time with the bass. 

Frank comes back to school the next week, just in time to take notes for review in classes and then final exams and projects. The three of them become really busy for those weeks, Bob especially making sure he does well so that his parents won't have to get on his case about getting off on the wrong foot in a new school. 

He appreciates the level of distance from Jamia and Frank, too. The amount of work he has allows Bob time to eat with them at lunch and drive them home after school, but then he has to finish all of his projects, also warming up to the idea of asking out Victoria.

It seems like a good idea, and then when classes end and Frank says, "Now we have all summer, you guys. Let's do something," Bob decides to ask definitely Victoria out that afternoon.

She says yes, and Bob doesn't realize how glad he really is about getting the opportunity to take her out until it's confirmed. He first started started talking to Victoria because she could relate to being new. She started school in Jersey at the beginning of the year, a semester before Bob moved to town. She'd grown up in New York and had relatives in the area already, so the change hadn't been quite as intense as Bob's, but she could still empathize.

While hanging out on Jamia's front porch the next evening, Frank suggests they go see a show across town, and Bob says he can't because he has plans with Victoria.

"Whoa, whoa," Frank says, "really? Since when?"

Bob shrugs. "Yesterday. It was sort of unexpected."

"You didn't even tell us you were thinking about it," Jamia says, and Frank drapes his arm over Bob's shoulder and makes obnoxious kissy noises in Bob's ear.

He says, "Dude, Toria's hot."

"She is," Jamia agrees, and the two of them go off on a tangent, detailing the nature of Victoria's hotness. Bob begs them to please stop. 

Frank and Jamia nix their vague plans for seeing a movie early in the evening to pressure Bob into letting them help assemble his outfit for his big date. 

"It's not a big date," Bob says. It's a relatively small date, really. Victoria's nice, and they get along, and maybe Bob'll kiss her goodnight, but he wasn't sweating over it at all until the two of them started making it into a huge deal. 

_They're_ making him anxious. 

Frank does Bob's hair. It's grown out enough that Frank can get away with molding it into a faux-hawk while Jamia goes through Bob's closet and criticizes his entire wardrobe, piece-by-piece. She makes disapproving noises at the amount of cargo shorts Bob owns. He reminds her that her boyfriend genuinely enjoys flannel, to which Frank scoffs and reminds them both that it isn't necessarily always about the outfit's foundation as it is about the accoutrement used to accent it. Anyway, Frank swears, it's his dad who insists that flannel is some sort of key element for finding success in life, and then the whole conversation morphs into Jamia and Frank trying to decide whether or not a tie is too much.

"It's too formal," Jamia says.

Frank shrugs and says, "But who doesn't like a man in a tie? It's impressive. _I_ would be impressed."

"He'll keep that in mind for the next time he takes you out," Jamia says.

Frank says, "Maybe he should," smiling from her to Bob, and then Jamia rolls her eyes and hands the tie over to Bob. 

"Wear it, and then take it off if it's too much," she instructs him, and Bob nods. 

He does end up taking the tie off after he meets Victoria, because she's got on a cute dress, but Bob still feels kind of overdone. That's sort of Frank's nature, really, overdoing things just slightly, but Bob can't really pull it off the same way Frank does. He flings the tie into the backseat, tugs at the collar of his shirt and greets Victoria with a hug when she gets into the car.

It isn't an awkward date except for the way Bob can't stop thinking of it as a date now, thanks to Frank and Jamia. He keeps worrying that he's not being enough of a gentleman or something ridiculous, until Victoria laughs at something else he says, and then suggests they sneak into a movie after getting food and then wandering around for a while, because, come on, why pay the $9.50 when the exit doors are always open?

Bob has a good night, and he only wonders what Jamia and Frank are up to about half the time. That has to be worth something, he figures. Combined with how much he doesn't hesitate to lean in for a quick kiss when he drops off Victoria, it's actually a huge win for him, and Bob drapes his tie around his neck as he walk into his house after he gets home.

He gets ready for bed, poking his head out of his bathroom when he hears something knock on his window as he brushes his teeth. Bob cuts the water and goes to see who it is, surprised to see Frank there, waiting patiently. He smiles when Bob lifts the shades and sees him and then Bob unlocks the window to let him inside.

Bob says, "You could have used the door."

"I was afraid your parents might be asleep."

"They are," Bob says, "but still."

"It's called courtesy, Bryar." Frank brushes off his pants when he gets in, already clad in sweatpants for bed and a well-worn t-shirt with a rip at the neck and another on the sleeve. He toes off his sneakers and flops onto Bob's bed. 

"Um. Not that I don't appreciate your presence, but what are you," Bob says, waving his toothbrush to indicate Frank's person, "doing here? The last time I checked, your bed was perfectly fine."

"I heard your car," Frank says, scooting backwards until his head finds a pillow at the head of the bed. "I want to know how it went."

"It's not as exciting as you'd probably like," Bob says, walking back to the bathroom to finish brushing his teeth. Once he's done, Bob comes into the bedroom again to find Frank still waiting expectantly.

"Well?" he says.

Bob sighs and gets onto the bed. He'd kind of tired now. He's not about to let Frank keep from sleeping. He says, "Well, what?"

"Did she try to kiss you?"

"Frank."

"Jamia and I made a bet about who'd go in for the kiss, man. We argued about it all night," Frank says, and then laughs. "Bob, dude, don't crush my soul. She kissed you, right? Was it the tie?"

Bob raises his eyebrows. "Wait, you don't think I'd go for it?"

Frank sits up, mouth open. He says, "Does that mean you did?"

"Leave me alone, Frank. I'm going to sleep," Bob says, turning away. It's a pathetic attempt at deterring Frank, who whoops and folds himself over Bob's side until he's looking at Bob with his head upside down.

"You did!" he says, slapping Bob's thigh. "You so did, you Casanova motherfucker, and you weren't going to tell me."

Bob groans, trying to push Frank off of him, and says, "Shut up. It's not a big deal. Let me sleep."

"Fuck you, okay? I owe Jamia twenty dollars now," Frank says. "The least you can do is entertain my curiosity."

"I can't believe you bet against me, asshole."

Frank slips over Bob, falling into the mattress on the side where Bob can see him. He says, "Yeah, whatever, are you going out with her again?"

Bobs shrugs. "Maybe."

;;

It's actually more of a probably until he talks to Victoria again, and it then becomes definitely. They get along well, and spending time with Victoria makes being around Frank and Jamia easier even if it doesn't cure the sickness. He goes out with Victoria enough times that she encourages him to slide his hands under her shirt when they make out. Frank and Jamia demand Bob share all the details of their dates, and Bob feels a small surge of triumph when they both express minor jealousy over how pretty Victoria is. 

"She's really funny, too," Bob offers, and then brings her out on a couple double dates with Frank and Jamia so that they can get to know her a little more. Bob really likes her. He likes having Victoria around.

He likes her enough that he doesn't weigh whether or not he should invite her to New York after Jamia suggests they take a weekend to hang out in the city. There's only so much they can do in Jersey, and it's a shame that they haven't taken the time to visit together already. Bob asks Toria to come along, and he's actually really bummed when she says that she can't because she already promised her parents she'd go to dinner with them and some of her dad's colleagues. 

"It's a schmoozing thing," she says, wrinkling her nose. "I'd rather go with you guys, but you know. Parents."

"Yeah, I know," Bob says. He knows all about parents making their children go along with things that aren't as great as they first make it sound, although lately Bob's forgiven them for New Jersey. It sucks less than it first seemed like it would. "Can I call you? Keep you updated?"

"I'll be bored out of my mind if you don't," she says, and Bob sits outside of her house with her, kissing her face until he figures he should go home and do some laundry if he plans to go on a trip for a few days.

Jamia has an aunt in New York who agrees to let them stay in her apartment for the weekend. She gives them a key and everything, because she's got a new boyfriend she spends a lot of time with lately. She doesn't want them to have to wait around for her, telling them that if she does plan on coming back to the apartment, it'll probably be very late, way after they'd come home for the night anyway.

So it's like they have free reign while they're in New York City for the weekend. The first day there, Frank and Jamia indulge Bob by letting him do all the tourist nonsense he keeps claiming he isn't interested in until they see the Statue of Liberty, and then Bob gives up the ghost to make sure they ask someone to take a picture of the three of them in front of it. Jamia laughs at him, but Bob just ignores them and throw his arm around Frank's shoulders while Jamia pushes up to kiss Bob's chin.

The next day they spend a lot of time in the park. Frank wakes them up early so they can go buy food items necessary for a picnic, and Bob calls Victoria in front the bakery counter to ask which cookies are better for the occasion: the butter ones with icing on top or fresh chocolate chip.

"Do the butter cookies have pastels on them? I'm a fan of color," she says.

"You and Frank," Bob says.

Victoria laughs softly. "He's got good taste then."

"Yeah," Bob says. He really does wish Victoria could be there. She adds something to the group, and besides, Bob likes being able to kiss her when Frank and Jamia decide they need to sneak off to the refrigerator section, claiming they're getting bologna and really making out in front of the milk, cheese, God, and everybody.

Victoria recounts the lameness of her day out with her parents thus far, and they finish up their conversation by the time Jamia and Frank come to nag him about being ready to pay for their groceries. They don't have an actual picnic basket, so they end up buying a bunch of food that come in re-sealable containers and leaving it all in the grocery bags. They did at least remember to take a couple of throws from Jamia's aunt's place, and Jamia swears it's okay that they use them, so Bob shakes them out and spreads the blankets on the ground.

The weather's hot, but not unbearably so. The three of them lie out under the partial shade of a tree, and Frank alternates between feeding Jamia grapes with one hand and letting Bob take a bite of pineapple slices with the other.

As repayment for his hospitality, Frank makes them follow him around to a bunch of stores on Sunday as he picks out accessories. He gets headbands and new earrings, and then Bob buys matching bracelets for him and Jamia, and then a third one in a new color for Victoria.

"What is with you and buying gifts for people?" Jamia asks, but she's looking at her wrist approvingly, and that's it for Bob right there. It's not like the bracelets were too expensive or anything. He just figured they'd be something nice.

Frank and Jamia go in together to get Bob a jacket he tries on and, according to them, looks smoking hot when he's wearing it. Summertime weather guarantees he'll never need to wear it, but Frank and Jamia insist that it simply means Bob already knows he'll look better than everybody else when school starts again in the fall. Bob snorts.

He does at least use his cool new jacket to try and look older to buy them some booze. They go to a random, out of the way liquor store and Bob pools their money together for some cheap whiskey and then a six-pack of beers. Jamia's aunt also has half a bottle of Vodka sitting on top of her refrigerator, and they take the opportunity to do shots and indulge in crappy brews while Frank and Jamia try on all of her aunt's clothes. Frank matches them up with his new purchases, and they use the hall as a runway, and Bob claps for every new ensemble, giving them an endless number of perfect tens.

The apartment is a one-bedroom, so they have to make pallets on the floor and share the couch for sleeping. Bob's lying between the coffee table and the couch when they start to settle down, bumping his knee into the side of it repeatedly. Frank lies on top of Jamia on the cushions above Bob, straddling her waist, and every time they start kissing, Bob looks at his phone like it might start vibrating any moment.

He breaks his attention away from it when he hears Jamia chuckle. She's turned her mouth away from Frank, squinting, and he places small pecks against her cheek over and over, and she asks, "What's wrong, Bob? Are we boring you?"

He can tell she's drunk because her face is flushed, skin pink all the way to her hair, where black roots are starting to show amongst the bleach blonde. Frank ducks his head to kiss her neck, and she pats him on the back to make him pause. Frank hums against her skin, and then peers over at Bob, saying, "He's thinking about his new girlfriend."

"No, I'm not," Bob says. He sort of is, although probably not in the way that Frank means. Mostly Bob's wondering if Victoria's still up, and if calling her now would give him a good excuse to walk into the other room. Something is making him a little moody. Maybe it's the alcohol. Maybe he's just tired.

He sits up and rubs his hands over his face, rubbing at his eyes. Jamia reaches out and scratches her fingernails in his hair, petting him as Frank says, "Uh oh. Someone's sleepy."

He raises his head, craning forward awkwardly to kiss Bob's face wherever he reaches first. He gets Bob's eyebrow, and at Jamia's lazy laugh, Frank slides from her to climb onto the floor with Bob and hug him. Instinct has Bob's arms come around Frank's middle, holding him steady, and Frank pulls back from the hug enough to kiss Bob's skin again, this time between the eyes.

"Hey, I'm sleepy too," Jamia says. "Share the wealth."

Frank leans in to kiss her, Jamia lifting her head just enough to make it feasible. She sighs into the kiss, and Bob forgets to try not to stare at the way their lips connect. When they part, Jamia's eyes flash toward him, and Frank's follow suit, his fingers kneading at the muscles of Bob's shoulder. Bob exhales audibly as Frank straightens up in his lap, watching him.

Bob's stomach drop as Frank's eyes flutter shut and his face dips forward. Bob meets him halfway, touching one hand to Frank's chin, sliding back over his jaw and simultaneously focusing on staying upright. Bob gasps, swallowing the thin, helpless noise that Frank makes, and this is exactly what Bob knows he shouldn't want.

"Wait. Frank," Bob mumbles.

"Hm," Frank moans. "'sokay."

"No," Bob says, pushing Frank back. Once gently and then with more intent. "No, it's not."

"What -- what's wrong?" Franks eyes are wide.

"Bob," Jamia says, cautiously, and Bob doesn't want her to ask any questions because he doesn't have answers.

"I'm just," Bob says, and Frank untangles their limbs as Bob makes to stand. "I'll, um." He shakes his head because he doesn't really know any alternatives that might be more appropriate, and suddenly his brain is telling him to get to the next room as quickly as possible. He clenches and relaxes one hand, tense, and he says, "I'm going to bed."

He doesn't wait for anyone to object before he leaves and shuts the bedroom door behind himself.

;;

The following morning Bob feels sluggish but not entirely hungover. He jumps in the shower while Frank and Jamia are still sleeping on the couch, getting some warmth back into his skin and hoping the steam will help clear the cloudiness of his brain. He forgot to look at the time before he climbed into the shower, but if it isn't too early, he thinks he should probably give Victoria a call to see how her morning's going. That, and then see about some breakfast, because he's starving.

When he gets out of the bathroom, Bob walks into the living room to grab clothes out of his bag and sees that Jamia's eyes are open. Frank's under her now, arm fit snug around her back, and she lifts a free hand to wave to Bob, yawning.

"Morning," Bob whispers. 

"How are you feeling?" she asks, voice just as quiet, breathing through the words. Bob shrugs and presses his hand to his head to indicate his grogginess. Jamia makes a sympathetic noise, and then says, "We probably just need food. Sorry about last night."

Bob stops poking through his clothes to say, "Don't worry about it. You don't have to -- "

"I should. I do. We're sorry," she says, letting the fullness of her voice creep in more to make the point. Bob relents, nodding, and then goes into the bedroom to get dressed and make her aunt's bed.

Despite Jamia's attempts at smoothing things over, the morning still passes with some tension. Frank's unusually quiet while they all shuffle around the apartment. He showers, and then Jamia cleans up. Bob channel surfs until they're both dressed, and then Frank suggests getting good at the diner a few blocks up.

The meal isn't hard to sit through, but it isn't the most comfortable breakfast Bob's ever had. After he finishes picking at his plate, Frank gets up to use the bathroom, and Bob taps his fork against the edge of his water glass to avoid watching him walk away.

It's then that Jamia takes the opportunity to say, "I know I said sorry earlier, but I want to make sure you know that we didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"I'm not," Bob says. "Honestly, like. It's not even something I'm dwelling on."

"No, you were upset last night," she says, tearing her napkin in half and then in quarters methodically. "And it wasn't just Frankie's fault, because I was going with it, too. I thought it would be okay -- "

"But why now?" Bob asks. "That's -- a couple months ago I had to apologize for the exact same shit, and it's -- "

"I know that, and -- "

"You're the two most confusing people in the _world_ ," Bob says, leaning forward so that his voice doesn't carry too much, "and it's really hard to figure out how I fit into this."

Jamia nods, saying, "You're right, you're right. And that's why I'm apologizing." She has her head craned forward the same way that Bob does, keeping their exchange between them. 

"Like, J, I'm kind of seeing somebody. You guys _know_ that --"

"We're _sorry_ ," Jamia repeats again, firmer. "We were all drinking. We didn't mean make you feel weird, okay? Really."

"Yeah," Bob says. He sits back in his chair and lift his glass of orange juice, trying to let it go as Frank comes back to the table. 

Sorry. It should be what Bob wants to hear, but he doesn't really feel much better. They finished eating, pay for the food, and go back the apartment for a while. According to the weather, a storm is supposed to roll through New York and into New Jersey that evening, so they make the decision to head back home earlier rather than later. Bob keeps his headphones on during the train ride, and when they get back to the station, the short drive from there to Jamia's house thankfully passes without conversation as well.

Bob's also grateful when Frank gets out with her and tells Bob that he doesn't have to worry about taking him back. He plans to stick around with Jamia longer, and that's fine with Bob because it means he can breathe easily again sooner than he first expected. He thinks about going to see Victoria, and then he just does it without calling first.

Victoria's father, Peter, is a funny guy. He's kind of weird, and he's the only person that calls his daughter "Vicky" even though she keeps telling him she'd rather he didn't. He also calls Bob "Rob," and Bob's beginning to think that Mr. Asher only does it to be contrary, but he's nice to Bob and doesn't treat him like a criminal for wanting to take his daughter out sometimes, so Bob doesn't complain.

Victoria comes downstairs when her Dad calls, and she and Bob spend time lounging around her house. She has an acoustic guitar that she plays all the time, and she constantly tries to get Bob to sing. She'll succeed at it, oh, never as long as Bob has any choice in the matter, but he doesn't mind her efforts because it means she spends a lot of time singing things at him to prompt his participation.

"How was the last day in New York?" she asks, eventually setting the instrument aside.

"Alright," Bob tells her, avoiding specifics. "We came back early to beat the rain."

She smiles. "You were afraid of a little storm?"

Bob laughs and scratches his head. He thinks of Frank's silence and Jamia's caution as he says, "Something like that. Tell me about the dinner with your dad's friends?"

"Oh, god, do you enjoy watching paint dry? This was worse," she says, prefacing it, and listening to her talk about how the rest of her her day went helps Bob take his mind off other things.

He's in a new mood when gets home that evening. Outside, the sky has already clouded over and started drizzling, but it isn't serious yet. Bob manages to get home without getting too wet, and then he eats with his parents, who also want to know about his weekend. Bob skips over all the parts with alcohol. He has to remember to get the leftover vodka out of his truck and stash it somewhere too. Maybe he can give it away.

After eating, Bob goes to his room and plans to waste time until he passes out early. The storm picks up well after darkness settles in for the overnight haul. Lightning starts long before the thunder, and then the thunder roars up as the wash of rainwater turns on in sheets. Bob keeps the volume on the television low, dozing to the sounds of processed laughter and a steady spray of water.

He doesn't expect the knock on his window. It's pouring outside. Bob scrambles out of bed and peeks out of the blinds. Frank taps his knuckles against the window again and waves frantically as if Bob can't see him right there, directly in front of his face. Bob makes a motion with his index over his mouth, cuing Frank to keep quiet, and he lifts the blinds and opens the window enough to let Frank crawl inside.

"You're soaking wet," Bob says.

Frank shakes out his hair, breathing in deep. He says, "It's raining."

"I noticed," Bob says, grabbing his bath towel from the back of his desk chair and tossing it over Frank's head. Bob loses sight of Frank's face momentarily, and then Frank shuffles fabric around, giggling, and scrubs his hair dry. "What do you want?"

"I was thinking about what you said," Frank says, "and I'm not."

"Huh?" 

"Confused, or. Confusing. Jamia told me about what you said to her today, and that was what you said before, that night in your bathroom." He holds the towel in his hands, hair sticking up in random patches. Spiky and wet, Bob notices the earrings in his lobes more -- the small pearls tonight -- and the glitter in his gloss glints once from the television light. "I wanted to tell you that I'm not trying to confuse you."

"Frank, you _kissed_ me," Bob says.

"You kissed me first!"

"And then you told me your weren't into guys!" Bob says, holding out his hands. "I'm sor -- what am I supposed to do with that? How is that not confusing?"

"I thought it would be okay. I thought you were into it before."

Bob shakes his head. "Not after you told me no. You made me stop -- "

"I panicked! What, I mean, do you think you're the only one who gets to be freaking clueless?" Frank says. His voice spikes, but he glances towards Bob's bedroom door and brings the volume down again. "I'm not naive, dude, I know that I'm different, you know? What I like to wear, how I act. I'm not oblivious; I'm aware of it, but it was always, like, hey, that's fine because at least I'm still crazy about this girl, and then you came and _fucked_ with _everything_."

"It wasn't the easiest thing for me to make that move either," Bob says. "I didn't know what I what I was doing."

"And I just didn't know how to react," Frank says.

"I thought you said that I was getting the wrong impression?"

"Are you listening to me even a little bit? Bob, I like you, okay?" Frank says, pushing into Bob's space. His chin's raises, defiant, and Bob touches his arm instinctively, the pads of his fingers pressing into damp skin. "I'm a fucking liar, and you shouldn't have believed me. We like you."

"Frankie," Bob says, mostly a warning, although he doesn't really stop Frank when he leans to press his nose into Bob's neck. He kisses the skin there carefully, and raises to get Bob's chin, and Bob feels hot suddenly, scraping his fingers down Frank's side. "You waited until I asked somebody out."

"And me and J have shit timing, but _Bob_ ," Frank continues, and Bob tilts his face down. Frank's mouth grazes the side of his as he speaks. "We're just figuring it out, too, you know? We weren't sure how you -- "

Bob interrupts Frank, saying, "I asked a girl out so I wasn't thinking about you guys all the time. If you guys don't know how I felt -- "

"Felt," Frank interrupts, and then Bob kisses him, as if maybe they both need to skip to that part to finally understand where the other is coming from. He feels frustrated at first, annoyed that Frank and Jamia keep managing to get him wound up. Frank slides his arm up around Bob's neck, holding on, and as their mouths slide together, Bob starts to feel some of the anxiousness dissolve in spite of himself.

He pulls back to ask, "So, this. You're sure this time?"

It's dim in the room, but Bob can still make out Frank's eyes. The darkness of them contrasts the gloss of Frank's lips. Frank nods enough to be clear but not enough to break things between too much. He practically tries to climb onto Bob, hiking his leg and encouraging Bob to support his thigh. As Frank comes up, Bob guides them back to the bed. They're bodies bounce on the mattress, and Frank lets out a high, sharp giggle that turns into a ragged gasp as they collide.

Bob's so _relieved_. It's odd that that's what he feels the most, but he kisses Frank, trying to stay quiet so his parents don't hear anything suspicious, and Bob wants him so much right then that he makes himself stop. He braces Frank's face with his hands, stealing two more short pecks, and then lifts his head away to see him.

"Hey," Frank says, hand fumbling around the waistband of Bob's pajama bottoms. He's tugging at the elastic experimentally. "What, hey."

"I still have to, um. I can't. Toria," Bob says, uncaring of the way Frank's clothes are getting his covers all damp. "Sleep here, though. You can stay."

Frank sighs, eyes fluttering closed. Bob's tempted to duck down again, but Frank opens his eyes and clears his throat, saying, "Yeah, okay. Okay."

He wiggles from under Bob and strips off his shirt and shorts until he's only wearing his damp underwear. Bob pulls back the sheets, and they crawl under them, shifting around until Bob's able to get an arm around Frank's body and Frank can kiss Bob's chin lightly, one after another, only stopping because he finally falls asleep.

;;

One of Bob's favorite things about summertime is that it means he gets to sleep in while his parents still have to leave for work. He comes out of his sleep enough to vaguely register his parents leaving the house in the morning, and then when he opens eyes for good later, he tightens his grip on Frank, confident in the knowledge that they're alone.

He could take advantage of this opportunity in really clever ways. Part of him really wants to do so, saving the heat between their bodies. Instead Bob rests his face against the top of Frank's head for a moment, and then he slips out of bed to wash up.

Frank's awake when Bob comes back. He stretches his arms, smiling at Bob sleepily, and for Bob, the only thing better than Frank all done up is probably Frank when he's freshly woken. His got smudged eyeliner and messy hair, sitting half-naked in Bob's bed and only missing a certain girl to match.

"We should go see J," Bob suggest, trying to sound casual.

Frank easy smile becomes a full, dopey grin. He says, "I like that idea."

Frank throws on one of Bob's t-shirts. Bob gives him a hoodie to pull over his head as well, and he slips on his shorts from the night before, mostly dry now. We washes his face before the go, getting rid of the stuff around his eyes as best he can, and while they take the walk to Jamia's house, Frank tentatively gropes for Bob's hand.

"Just to see," he says, when Bob looks at him curiously. Bob doesn't deny him.

Jamia, of course, catches it immediately when they get to her house and she answers the door. She looks from their hands to their faces, and then she punches Frank in the arm twice, saying, "Thanks for not calling me to let me know what happened, asshole."

"I love you, too," Frank says, rubbing his arm.

To Bob, Jamia says, "I made him get off the phone with me yesterday so he could go apologize to you."

"He did," Bob says, laughing at Frank's wounded expression. "We, uh. We talked about things a little bit."

" _He_ didn't resort to violence," Frank says.

"And?" Jamia asks Bob, careful.

Bob says, "And I am still seeing someone right now, sort of. So."

"But I spent the night," Frank adds, and he seems pleased again instead of assaulted. 

Jamia sucks on her lower lip, considering, and then she squints into the light as she looks at Bob. She says, "...okay. I think I can deal with that. I mean, as long as you're not pissed at us anymore?"

Bob smirks, muttering, "Um, yeah, no. No, I'm not mad."

"Okay," Jamia says, nodding once seriously, and then she smiles and reaches for Bob's other hand.

;;

Bob wishes this thing with Jamia and Frank could be that simple. They've each been up front with a lot of their issues and figured out where everyone stands, and Bob thinks he's earned at least one instance of easiness out of this, but there's still Victoria. He should be at the part where he can relax, but he doesn't want to hurt anybody. He and Victoria have only been seeing each other a few weeks, but he likes her. He might be hung up on other people already, but he enjoys spending time with her, and he shouldn't string her along as his girlfriend although he does enjoy her company.

The best course of action here, Bob decides, is to be honest. Or, well, mostly honest. Completely honest would be trying to explain that he's not sure if this means he's bisexual or what, but he's attracted to two people at the same time, and the dude in that couple sort of really enjoys being the prettiest girl at the ball. That explanation might be a bit much for Victoria, really, so Bob just goes to her house and tries his best not to sound like a terrible person when he meets her outside of her house the next afternoon to tell her that they probably shouldn't see each other.

"Saying that it's not you, it's me would be lame right now, wouldn't it?" Bob asks. 

"Maybe," Victoria says. 

"But I mean it. It's really not you," he says. He feels like a dunce anyway. "Yeah, that was definitely lame."

"But I appreciate it," she says. She's disappointed, Bob can tell, though he isn't gullible enough to believe it's because she spends all her time pining after him and he's breaking her heart. At least, he hopes not. She could do a lot better, for one.

"Making myself sound like an ass: it's the least I could do," he says, and she laughs faintly at that.

She says, "Are you -- if you don't want me to know, you don't have to say anything, but you didn't meet some, like, hip New Yorker or anything, did you?"

"Uh, no, that's not it. It's a little complicated," he says. "Nobody in New York though."

"Alright." she says. "Fair enough." She turns to look at him straight on, and he tries not to shrug under her gaze. She's gorgeous. He's kind of an idiot. She says, "Okay, then, I guess I'm gonna go back in? Thanks, I guess, for coming over instead of calling."

"Yeah," he says, and as they stand, he gives her a hug. She doesn't hold on too long, but she presses her face against his shoulder, and then pats him there before she steps away.

"Later, Bryar," she says, and Bob waves awkwardly as she heads to the front door. She goes into the house, and Bob still feels like a dunce again, standing for a minute before he finally makes himself leave.

The feeling sticks with him all the way home. He finds himself wishing that he'd taken his car, only because the walk gives Bob a lot more time to stew. He finally reaches his block though. Coming from Victoria's, Bob doesn't have to pass Frank's house to get to his own, but he can see Frank and Jamia sitting on Frank's porch from the distance. He shoves his hands in his pockets and walks over, coming up just as Jamia finishes lining Frank's eyes.

"Are you done yet?" Frank asks, looking upward, his eye wide, and Jamia tells him to stop complaining. She swipes the pencil under Frank's eye one more time, then uses her finger to wipe the corner. 

"There," she says. "You whine a lot."

"I'm impatient," he says, and as Jamia puts away the eyeliner, Frank sits back and look to Bob. "Hey."

"Hey," Bob says. "Your eyes look good."

"Thank you," Frank says. He's got shades of blue today. "I did it myself."

"And then I had to fix it," Jamia says, which makes Frank roll his eyes. "How are you?"

Bob shrugs, and they scoot over on the porch to make room for him to sit down at Jamia's side a step below her. He rests his arm on her thigh, and she threads their fingers. Bob takes a breath and starts to feel alright, and then when she leans down to kiss his head, he starts feeling a lot better things. About them. He wants this.

Her hands are clad in silk gloves that come up to her elbow and don't match with her clothes. Frank's wearing black ones that only come to the wrist, and he's got his rings on his finger outside of the gloves. One of the pieces of jewelry isn't his regular accessory, though, it's a ring with a big red stone gem in it. Bob can't tell if it's real, but it looks convincing.

He asks, pinching at the fabric on Jamia's forearm. "Where'd you get these?"

"Frankie found them at that yard sale around the corner earlier," Jamia explains, and Frank nods.

"This too," he says, holding up the hand with the gaudy ring, and he seems so proud that Bob has to laugh. Frank keeps grinning. "I think they look good together, you know? Really classic. What do you think?"

"Yeah, sure." Bob shrugs again, smirking as he looks from Jamia's arms to Frank's hand and then up to their smiles. He thinks they're beautiful.


End file.
